


The Attic Divine

by darkandgritty



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandgritty/pseuds/darkandgritty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened in the attic? Follows the story of a 15 year old girl far out of her depth with magic and power she needs to learn how to control. Marcel makes questionable choices in this story, and Davina is yearning for more. Elijah eventually, and Father Kieran's attempts at spiritual guidance. Seeing if there's interest in this story first, before writing more. R & R. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The blade glistened under the light of the blood moon. The scarlet and silver glittering against the ceremonial weapon that had drained her Harvest sisters of life. She was held with the power of the Witches. Her people. The terror clenched her heart as she began to scream as the knife began to dig into her throat.

Her screams woke her, and she sat up in the small bed that had been provided for her in her prison. She took a deep breath, and let her bright eyes focus in the darkness of the church attic. Struggling to calm herself, feeling the pulse of the magic coursing through her.

" You have a lot of nightmares. I used too, before I was turned."

His voice was smooth, and it didn't take long for her eyes to find him in the relative darkness of her new room. She asked softly.

"What do you have to fear, Marcel?"

He smiled, his teeth gleaming white, his fangs carefully tucked away for the time being.

" We all have terror and regrets in our past, Davina Claire. Now sit up. You need to eat. "

Her nose wrinkled at the tray he set on her lap. Eating in bed wasn't her style, and after the nightmare, and the fact that it was nothing compared to the truth of the previous night had left her with little appetite.

He murmured after she ignored the food and was silent for some time. "I have ways to force you to eat, Davina. I don't want to have too. " He leaned closer, his eyes imploring her. "I did not save your life just to watch you waste away before me."

She escaped his gaze by peering down to the white china, and the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, on white bread, and a stack of potato chips, Pringles by the design. She frowned and finally brought herself to raise her eyes to his. "Why did you save me?"

He considered her question, leaning back in the chair he reclined in beside her bed. Murmuring after a moment. "I don't like to see kids hurt on my watch, and this is my city. New Orleans is everything I have built. I won't say anyone hurting children on my watch." 

Her eyes narrowed, and rage roared in her soul. After all that she had faced, how dare he call her a kid? She threw the tray away from her lap with the use of the magic she had inherited by her survival. She watched the plastic tray and the white plate shatter against the wall. Her eyes flashing.

"I am not a child."

He rose, his eyes narrowing. "You're behaving like one. You will eat, and after we will have a chat. " He stalked to the door, pausing and studying her.

"We have much to discuss, Davina. They will be looking for you. I am your ally. Your friend. I will do what I can to keep you safe, but we need to have mutual respect for each other. I understand you've been through a lot. But don't forget that I am the King of New Orleans." His eyes glittered, and a smile played on his lips.

"Play your cards right, and you could grow into my Queen."

She blinked and watched the door close. She pushed herself up from the bed, surprised by the aches in her body. All of the stress of this, and the crying, all of the crying, appeared to be taking their toll.

She tried to open the door, and growled when she realized it was locked. Surely she could open it, but then what? Run down Bourbon street until she was once again taken by her people, and then slaughtered? No. She wouldn't do that.

This was a prison. One more frenzied attempt at opening the door proved that, and she moved to the window, pushing aside the gauzy cloth that served as curtains, and peering up to the night sky.

The stars were obscured by the city lights, and she frowned, struggling to identify constellations. She let her gaze lower to the street below, the drunken activities of college co-eds catching her attention.

She watched as a blonde girl, lowered herself in the alley before her fraternity boyfriend. And she watched as things she had heard her friends talk about happened before her, the pane of glass her television. Watching the debauchery, and unable to prevent herself from letting her mind wander back to Marcel's words.

Queen. The idea of all of that power sparked something within her abdomen, and the idea of the territory that came with such an offer ignited something lower, between her thighs. A small shiver ran up her spine as she watched the vulgar and exciting display in the alley.

She let her hand slide down the front of the white gossamer nightgown she hadn't remembered changing into. Had Marcel been the one to undress her, and put her in these chaste pajamas? She had allowed that thought to propel her hand further as she pushed the nightgown aside at her thighs, and continuing her exploration. 

For the first time since all of the insanity of the Harvest, she allowed herself to enjoy the explorations and pleasures of being a teenager, and enjoyed the discovery of youth. Her mind awash with a powerful vampire, and when she returned to sleep, exhausted and sated, she dreamed no more.


	2. Chapter 2

The soft knocking on the door woke her, and she sat up a little blurry eyed. Glancing to the window, her ears registering the tell-tale chirping of the birds, that it was another beautiful morning. In captivity. She managed a laugh, calling. "I can't unlock it from in here, Marcel!"

The sound of a key clicking in the lock was her response, and she tilted her head when a Priest appeared, his dark troubled eyes and receding hairline, along with the trail of wrinkles that were set in his rugged skin showed years of hard living, likely from his struggled with the super natural community. 

He gave her a little smile, closing the door behind him and pocketing the key in the pocket of his jacket, no doubt alongside his pocket of psalms. He kept afloat on his other hand a big bowl of what smelled a lot like oatmeal. Approaching and handing it to her, he murmured. "Careful. It's hot. "

Her suspicions were confirmed, when she saw the creamy concoction, brown sugar liberally sprinkled on top, and milk sloshing dangerously near the side as she took it. Her stomach rumbled and she realized it had been far too long since she had eaten, and she murmured. "Thank you, Father."

He smiled a little, and crossed the room to pull the curtains aside to let more of the morning sun in the small attic room. He murmured wryly. "For helping hold you captive, or making you breakfast, child?"

She blinked considering his words. Adding tentatively. "Breakfast. And Marcel said I'm being kept safe here, isn't that what's happening?" She raised a dark brow, fixing her eyes on the Priest. She liked him, and the honesty that radiated from him as brightly as his suffering did. 

Father Kieran shrugged, and returned his attention out the window. Avoiding the gaze of the young witch, and feeling keenly the absence of the faith that had once sustained him. Reveling in the unbelievable irony of his life for a moment before lifting his hands in supplication. "Surely if Marcel says it, it must be so. So it is written." A smirk pulled on his lips, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes and he was glad his back was turned. 

Davina caught the sentiment all the same, and she did not mince words. Before she could consider what she was asking, she blurted out. "Am I in danger here, Father? Does Marcel intend to hurt me?"

He turned to take in the sight of the girl, in full bloom. The light of magic within her like a beacon light for those of the supernatural persuasion, and he sighed. He did not trust the Vampire as far as he could throw him, and though he suffered his bidding, he could not deny the revulsion for it. How could he answer this child, and he decided to use the advice he had given his followers throughout the years, and often not followed himself. Honesty was a balm to God's ears.

"I do not know his intentions, child. I know that where supernaturals go a path of destruction, blood and corpses follow."

A shiver ran down her spine, and she stiffened. Her eyes narrowing. "You forget, Father. I am supernatural too." The curtains behind him began to sway with an unseen wind, as her eyes lit with warning.

He chuckled, raising his hand and murmuring. "I did not forget. And I assure you, I may be the one person in the city who does not wish you harm. You have enemies everywhere, child. Recognize a friend when you see one before you."

The curtains stilled, and she gazed down at her cooling oatmeal, a touch of shame culling her appetite. Stirring the creamed oats and brown sugar, and using the spoon to take a bite. Enjoying the caramelized taste of the brown sugar mixed in and swallowing it. Venturing a compliment, amid the threatening tension of the room that she had created herself. "It tastes good."

He nodded, taking it as an extension of peace and moving to pull the chair Marcel had sat upon watching her fitful sleep the night before. Sitting down and watching her take a few more bites. "My nephew always liked it that way. He used to live here, when he was first deciding if he wanted to join the church or not. He slept in that same bed. "

She nodded, and tilted her head. Smiling and asking the obvious question. "Is he cute?"

Father Kiaren blinked. It had been so long since anyone but his Niece had referred in a positive way to his Nephew after the well publicized and horrific massacre that had happened in the sanctuary of this very church. Where he spent nearly every moment. He cleared his throat, focusing on the white duvet cover and murmuring quietly. "He was. He's dead." 

Davina nodded a little and murmured. "I'm sorry… " Thinking of no other way to break the growing sadness in the room she tried a joke. A terrible one, but it was the best she had in her at the moment given how poorly she was dealing with her own personal tragedies The image of her dead best friend Monique haunting her every time she closed her eyes. Always only a blink away. She watched him, not weighing her words before releasing them. " It wasn't your cooking, was it?"

Laughter from his throat, thick and almost garbled caught them both off guard. He coughed, shaking his head. "No. It was not my cooking. " Davina smiled and returned to her breakfast, as the Father pulled from his pocket a little notepad and began writing. They sat in relative silence as she ate, and he wrote, only the sounds of bic pen against paper, and of stainless steel against porcelain combined their song with the symphony of the birds, and the waking city. 

After she had finished her breakfast she set the bowl aside, returning her attention to the Priest and asking "Whatcha writing?" He smiled, his voice quiet. "My sermon. I usually write up here. I will have to find a new place to write, I suppose."

She shook her head a little. "You can still write up here. I'll be quiet. Unless you want to talk. I have a lot I could talk to a Priest about."

A wry smile greeted her. "The truth is I'm not much of a Priest. I even heard a tale about me keeping a Witch in my attic for a Vampire. I have lost my path. But I must keep up appearances."

Watching him, her brow furrowed. "Maybe we can help each other find our paths. "

The Priests smile froze on his face, when another voice joined the quiet morning. Marcel stood in the doorway. "My. How refreshing, Davina. Making friends all ready. And you've eaten, I see the good Father has an effect on you. That is all Father. Davina and I have much to talk about."

Kieran rose from the chair, and Marcel reclaimed it, and waited for the Priest to leave as he had been bid. Without another word he was out of the room, taking the steps down from the attic quickly. He had not been compelled, but he had been observant enough to realize an order from the King was not to be disobeyed without fear of ramifications.

Davina watched his retreat and returned her attention to Marcel, frowning. "Did I do something wrong?"

Shaking his head, his expression grim. "You must be careful who you trust, Davina. The whole world is out to get you." She stiffened as his hand took hers, gripping it, his dark eyes boring into her. "I am the only one with your best interests at heart."

Shivering at his words, she listened most closely to his first warning. She must be careful who she trusted and deep in her soul the alarm bells began to ring, as Marcel began to twist and wind her to his will.


	3. Chapter 3

The days came and went in the attic, and Davina began to learn her new place in the hierarchy of New Orleans underworld politics. Anytime a Witch of the French Quarter did magic, she felt it. The first time it happened, she had been talking with Marcel about the possibility of learning how to make daylight rings for his army, and her vision had blurred. The afternoon light of the quiet attack turning yellow and fragmented as the chanting grew louder and louder in her ears. Visions of the Witch doing the spell, an elder of the coven, and then of her own face. 

During the course of the spell Marcel had thrust a notebook and pen into her hands, and she focused on the house number, sketching it as quickly as she could before the hold of the magic that was channeling through her disconnected. She had fallen back into an instant faint, unprepared for the emotional and physical toll the magical assault had on her.

She hadn't woken until later that night and had found herself alone with her drawing on the bedside table, the exterior of the Witches home, and the number on the house. 317. The next morning Marcel stopped by with breakfast and the news that the threat at the address had been eliminated.

Anyone that dared to do magic had to do so through her power, Marcel had explained, and as she had seen for herself, they were searching for her. They needed to complete the Harvest, and she was the most sought after Witch in Louisiana because of it. 

This particular morning she was sitting in the window seat drinking coffee from the Jesus Loves You mug that Father Kieran had taken to bringing her along with breakfast each morning. It had a strange flavor to it and he had mentioned the vervain creamer. Just in case. He didn't fully trust Marcel, and she took her cues from him. Kieran had despite his own twisted path given her some much needed spiritual guidance, and they were currently discussing Sophie, and how she was the only Witch that could be trusted.

"She came to me, Davina. Told me about the Harvest. We tried to stop it before it got to the point that it did. It's why my Nephew is dead."

She gulped down her coffee, setting the cup down and raising her eyes to him. "He's dead because of me?" Her eyes widening in horror at the implications.

Kieran shook his head vigorously and grabbed her hand from the other side of the window seat. "No. That is not what I am saying, and is not true. You cannot blame yourself for the sins of your people, anymore then I can be blamed for the crimes of all humans."

The door to the attic opened, and an entourage of Vampire's entered her small sanctuary. She smiled when she saw the handsome man in the Newboys hat, all discussion of cursed nephews and the Harvest momentarily forgotten by the pull of her hormones. She rose slowly and smoothed out the flared skirt of one of the new dresses that Marcel had dropped by. Expensive clothing. Things picked out specifically for her. It was strange to be wearing name brands she read about in Vogue when she was supposed to be studying Chemistry back at her High School before all of this. Her hand played with the pink chiffon, and her eyes narrowed a little at the pale fabric. Concerned for a moment that she looked like a little girl, but Thierry's appraising gaze, and how his eyes lingered at where the fabric of the dress strained at her chest. A smile lit her face, and she approached him with more confidence then she felt. "Hello. I'm Davina."

Before he had the chance to respond to her extended hand, or words, Marcel stepped inside, carrying an easel. Thierry held a wooden case, and there were a couple boxes in the arms of the other grunt men. Davina tilted her head, and was rewarded with a brilliant grin from the Vampire King of Louisiana.

" I've brought you a present. Don't bother with the underlings. " He gave a wink to Thierry to know his words were mainly meant in jest. " You need tools if you're going to be an artist, and it just so happens I found some of the perfect materials in my own attic. They were left behind a long time ago, and I saw no point in them gathering dust in storage when you could be breathing new life into them."

Thierry took the easel from his boss, and began to set it up right in front of the window so she could catch the light when she wasn't forced to shudder the windows before Sunday service. Davina moved to stroke her hand down the beautifully carved rosewood structure of the easel, breathing. "It's a work of art in itself, Marcel. I'm not very good at drawing… I would feel like a poser." Frowning at the idea.

He laughed at her phrasing and shook his head. "You're a psychic artist, and your art leads to the capture of our enemies, Davina. Your enemies. Those who would see your throat slit." He crossed the room and moved to trace the line of her throat with his fingertip. She inhaled sharply, and could feel the eyes of everyone on the two of them. Raising her eyes to his, she waited, every nerve on edge. Would he bite her? Had he eaten today?

His smile widened, something still predatory in his gaze. "I won't have you spilling a drop of blood without my express permission… and wish… " His fingertips moved to press against where her pulse was strongest on the side of her throat. She trembled under his touch, and was grateful when Father Kieran broke the moment by clearing his throat. She turned to glance at him and was surprised by the ferocity of his displeasure. He was on his feet, his eyes narrowed. 

"Marcel, I insist on a word." And he stalked past Davina and from the room down the stairs. To everyones surprise, Marcel smiled wider. Pressing his lips to Davina's forehead before turning on his heel and following the Priest down the stairs to the sanctuary, closing the door behind him and leaving Davina alone with four vampires. She glanced between them all, ignoring the obvious glare on the face of the one with the dreadlocks coming out of his hair. He was probably jealous of the attention Marcel was giving her… he seemed like he could be Josh's type now that she thought about it. Her mind wandered to her best friend. She would beg a phone call from Kieran next time they were alone she decided, before returning her attention to the cutie in the hat who was busy opening up the wooden case, and beginning to set up the tubes of paint and brushes inside.

"What did you say your name was?" She smiled at him, as the other vampires went about unpacking parchment and canvasses. All entertained by another girl far too young for the Horn player showing obvious interest, even when the boss clearly had interests too. It left Thierry in an uncomfortable position. He cleared his throat, lining up the paints absently by the color wheel. "Umm. I'm an underling. Underling Thierry. " 

Giggling at that Davina extended her hand again, and was rewarded by a handshake, though it was more succinct then she would have hoped. "A pleasure." The formalities of acquaintanceship were cut short by the sounds of yelling coming from the sanctuary. One voice, and another, both angrier then the one before. She jumped nearly a foot when something crashed and splintered below them.

Thierry dropped her hand, glancing to his companions. "That sounded like a pew. Marcel must be tearing the church apart. GO." 

As quickly as she could blink, they were all out of the attic room and had abandoned her to go and tend to their leader. She picked up a fallen paintbrush before noting that they had left the door open. Gripping onto it, as if it were a sword she approached it slowly, barely believing her luck when she found the door unguarded. 

Her heart began to pound as she carefully made her way to the steps. Proceeding down them one at a time with caution, and nearly giving up and running back when the steps creaked underneath her and everything went silent in the sanctuary. Freezing and catching her breath she gripped onto the bannister and waited. The raised voices carried on again, and she caught only bits of conversation as she slowly continued her way down.

" Absolutely… That…. NO! Not under my Roof Marcel!"

The response she caught all of as she stood in the doorway to the sanctuary watching the war before her. And it was not going well for the Priest.

Thierry and another of the Vampire's under Marcel's employ held him by each arm, pushing him against the wall, just beside the crucifix. Marcel advancing, his fangs extended, veins under his eyes appearing in hunger and anger.

" It's easy to change ownership. One only needs to drain the man in charge, and then what will you have to say? Haven't enough of your relations died in this church, Father?!" He advanced, coiled and ready to strike. " I'll do what I want with the girl, and you won't be here to do anything about it!"

Before he could strike at the Priests covered throat, Davina raised her hand. Taking a breath she focused all of her powers on disabling Marcel and the other Vampire's in the church. She watched with calm satisfaction, still caught up in her wordless spell as the men fell to their knees, gripping their heads. Crying out in pain, and despair. She did not hold back. Giving a little nod to the Priest. "Father Kieran. Thank you. It's my turn to speak with Marcel." Her eyes glittered as she indicated with her head that he should go.

Wide eyed and pale, sweat dripping from his brow he hurried past her, leaving one bit of wisdom for her to ponder as she watched the Vampire's cry out beneath her. " Be careful child, you're treading dangerous ground. I thank you for my life. "

 

She watched him go, giving him time to escape the church before finally she lowered her hand, returning her attention completely to Marcel as he tried to catch his breath and reorient himself after her attack. "You said you wanted to keep me safe. The girl gets a say too, and if you hurt Father Kieran, I will destroy you. I swear it before you, and God and all of my ancestors." Her voice was grave and full of promise.

She had few friends, and fewer people yet that she trusted, and she knew she could do far worse then the Priest, but she intended to keep her allies beside her and alive. It was up to Marcel if he wanted to be friend or foe. She glanced to the Pew that had been uprooted and thrown into the choir loft. Glancing between the other men she had also taken down. Speaking clearly so they could hear. "That goes for all of you. Too many people are trying to kill us, we can't be killing each other. Now clean up this mess. I'm going to paint."

And she turned, climbing back up the stairs to the attic. She'd played her strongest hand, and she knew in the back of her mind that she was a strong witch. She had all of the unharnessed power of the Harvest in her blood. All the same, Marcel was an extremely strong Vampire with unknown reach and strength in numbers. If he wanted her dead for her stunt, she knew she would pay. She shut herself inside the safety of her attic room after climbing the steps, taking some deep breaths and watching the chipped paint of the frame, waiting for fate to open the door and extinguish her flickering flame.


End file.
